Let thine eye rest on fields of waving grain,
In bright luxuriance, waving o’er the plain,
On groves of olives, round the green hill’s side,
And clustering vineyards stretching far and wide,
On splendid palaces, the city’s boast,
And cottages, ’midst sheltering foliage lost,
Shaded from noon-tide’s radiant burning beam,
The seats of calm and deep repose they seem;
Then, on that suffering object cast your eye,
Who sits, dejected, ’neath yon glowing sky;